The Purloined Legacy
by PencilMonkeyGaiden
Summary: Taylor Hebert's future seems bleak, indeed: No parents, no friends, no super-special parahuman powers. Moving to Britain and living with crazy magic relatives that she never knew about before... That's gotta be worth a try, right? Even if it's all based on a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty... Okay, a HUGE lie.
1. Chapter 1

**The Purloined Legacy**  
[Harry Potter/Worm]

**Summary:**  
Taylor Hebert's future seems bleak, indeed: No parents, no friends, no super-special parahuman powers. Moving to Britain and living with crazy magic relatives that she never knew about before... That's gotta be worth a try, right? Even if it's all based on a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty... Okay, a HUGE lie.

**TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL. TPL.**

**Chapter I**

Twirlpike had spent all of thirty minutes in the company of Lester Speight, yet he'd nevertheless been forced to downgrade his already low opinion of the wizard from "overly talkative nuisance" to "utterly vacuous simpleton".

That was probably about average by Twirlpike's standards, really. While he was generally able to endure roughly three quarters of an hour in the presence of a wizard, before the urge to plant a battle-axe in the aforementioned wizard's empty skull made the vein in the goblin's forehead throb at a dangerous pace, that statistic was only true of wizardly blowhards, and witchy ditto, in general terms.

Speight, however, was a _Ministry_ blowhard. Buffoons of such a rarefied calibre belonged in a category of their very own... or in a padded cell, for preference. It would probably be a safer arrangement, both for them and for the rest of the world.

"Step lively, now! Come along, Turnpike, come along," Speight called out, as he traipsed along the sidewalk. "We'll be late for the meeting, and who knows what those Muggles might do to that poor girl if we don't rescue her in time!"

The goblin scowled at the Ministry wizard's back. The difference in the lengths of their respective stride - between a goblin with fine physique, and a freakishly long-legged human - was enough to give Speight a frustrating advantage in speed. "My name," he growled, puffing a little. "Is _Twirlpike_. And we could have been on our way _twenty minutes_ ago, if _somebody_ had been prepared to leave at the scheduled time."

"My department has been burdened with a considerable amount of paperwork, due to the unusual and untested means of transportation involved," Speight sniffed. "My departure was extremely hurried, under the circumstances."

"The 'means of transportation' has been thoroughly tested," Twirlpike grumbled. "Gringotts certified."

"Not tested or certified by the Ministry, though." Speight glanced at Twirlpike's shoes, mingled wariness and avarice in his eyes. "Proper studies would-"

"...Would require a licensing agreement," Twirlpike said, cutting off the wizard with a dismissive tone. "Goblin artifacts are a proprietary Gringotts trade secret, except when leased to unaffiliated, and _paying_, customers."

Speight sighed, and shook his head. "Suit yourself, Pearltyke. I just don't see what's supposed to be so impressive about a pair of plain walking boots."

"_Twirl-pike_," the goblin snarled. "And they're _Planeswalking_ Boots. Now, unless you wish to Apparate home from here, travelling between one plane of existence and another under your own power, I suggest that you-"

"Look!" Speight pointed at a shop window. "Look at what those horrid Muggles have done to the poor orphans!"

Nonplussed, Twirlpike peered at the window display. "What are you babbling about?"

Speight goggled at him. "They've killed those defenceless children, and put the bodies in the window! What kind of orphanage is this?!"

"...Those aren't corpses," Twirlpike sighed. "They're _mannequins_. This is a shop that sells clothing, they use those dolls to display the wares they have for sale."

"'Dolls'?" Speight frowned. "You mean... like dressmaker's dolls? But... why aren't they moving?"

Twirlpike pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. "Muggle goods tend to be inanimate, more often than not."

"Really? Are you sure?" Speight mulled this over for a moment. "You must have gotten the wrong address, then. The orphanage should be right here!"

The Ministry wizard brandished a sheet of parchment, thrusting it in Twirlpike's face. The goblin scowled, and slapped it aside.

"The address on record is correct," Twirlpike hissed, pointing a clawed finger at a building across the street. "It is, in fact, right over there."

Turning to follow the goblin's finger, Speight examined the bland-looking office building on the opposite side of the road. "...Brockton Bay Child Protective Services? So, the Muggles do actually protect their children?"

"A novel concept for wizarding society, I'm sure," Twirlpike muttered.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Twerplike? Quit your dawdling!" Speight stalked imperiously across the street, towards the front door. "We must hurry, and save that poor young witch!"

The goblin glared daggers at the wizard's retreating back. "_TWIRLPIKE!_"

Several bystanders and random pedestrians stopped and stared at him. Eyes widened, jaws slackened in surprise, and a low chorus of murmurs broke out. Words like "cape" and "para-human" were bandied about, with the phrase "case fifty-three" putting in an occasional appearance... Whatever the kruggosvlat _that_ meant.

Twirlpike grimaced, and stomped after Speight. The wizard had cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on himself, keyed to Muggles, when they arrived in this city. Evidently, the spell only had a limited area of effect... Not that Twirlpike would ever permit the wizard to cast any spell whatsoever at him directly.

By the time Twirlpike caught up with Speight, the Ministry blowhard had already gone through the front door, and headed past a startled-looking secretary.

"Um, excuse me? Sir? You can't just go in there," she called after him, fidgeting nervously and looking as if she debated calling a security guard.

Evidently, Speight's attempt at a Notice-Me-Not Charm had been sufficient to make the Muggle humans overlook his ridiculous garb and outlandish mannerisms, but not enough to compel this secretary to automatically assume that a scraggly-bearded stranger, dressed in a bright yellow anorak and fluffy slippers ("Casual Muggle attire, Traplick! Trust me on this... After all, which one of us got an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Muggle Studies? You or me?") had any kind of legitimate business in a place full of vulnerable children.

Feh. Typical slipshod Ministry work.

"We have an appointment," Twirlpike growled, digging a piece of paper out of a folder under his arm, and shoving it at the secretary.

Goblins might be prohibited by Ministry fiat from owning wands, but that just meant they were forced to come up with more... _creative_ outlets for magic usage. Crafting enchanted arms and armor, for instance - or composing very _convincing_ legal documents. Goblins were skilled at working metal in a forge, but they were quite deft hands at forging paperwork, as well.

The first piece of paperwork made the secretary pause, but didn't seem to have assuaged her concerns completely. Twirlpike followed up his initial salvo of weaponized bureaucracy with a laminated card.

She gave the small rectangle a flustered once-over. "Ah... Erm, I'm not sure what... Is this your driver's license? Or some sort of... ID? This... is your identity, isn't it? Mister, uh... Pike?"

"It is _an_ identity, certainly," the goblin said, in a voice as close to affable as he ever got.

"Well, um... This all seems to be in order," the beleaguered secretary whimpered.

As soon as the secretary showed signs of defeat, Twirlpike yanked the papers away from her, cramming them back in his folder as he brushed past her.

She watched him leave, but thankfully didn't try to stop him, this time. "Erm... Have a nice day...?"

"Too late for that," he grumbled to himself.

Soon, Twirlpike caught up with Speight. The wizard was currently looking around at the doors lining the corridor.

(Preblagsh forfend that the feckless meat-bag should make himself _useful_, and cast a Confundus Charm on the secretary to save Twirlpike from doing all the work.)

"Ah! There you are," Speight cried out, when he noticed the goblin. "If you're quite finished fooling around with that Muggle woman, we need to find the girl."

"'Fooling around', am I?" Twirlpike sneered. "You would, perhaps, prefer to have a dozen security guards breathing down our necks?"

"I really don't see the point of all this silliness," Speight huffed, folding his arms. "Messing about with the Muggle government, setting up appointments with them, kowtowing to their flunkies... It would have been much simpler to just seek out the girl at a time of our choosing!"

"Oh, what a _marvellous_ plan," Twirlpike drawled. "Except for a few minor details... Such as the total and utter lack of magical authorities in this world. No Aurors to save your hide, no Obliviator Squads to cover up your messes."

Speight's pomposity deflated, just a little. "...Ah."

"Yes, 'ah'. Much simpler to just work within the constraints of the local bureaucracy." Twirlpike glared at the wizard, shooting his ridiculous outfit a contemptuous look. "...And avoid drawing attention to ourselves."

"Um... Well..." Speight desperately seized the handle of the door beside him. "Let's just find this girl, shall we?"

"That's a washroom." Twirlpike gritted his teeth, and jabbed a clawed thumb at another door - one that bore a sign labeled 'MEETING ROOM 14'. "Try this one."

Wonder of wonders, Speight suffered from a sudden fit of manners, and remembered to knock before barging in, this time.

Inside, the meeting room was plain and mostly unremarkable, akin to a thousand others of its ilk, although distinctly Muggle in style. It sported a table, a smattering of chairs, and a few potted plants. Also, there were quite a few toys, stuffed animals, picture books, and various other knick-knacks that someone had deemed suitable for distracting under-age humans in a mostly harmless manner.

There were two humans in the room, already seated. One was an adult woman, harried-looking with a polite smile pasted on her face. Her outfit suggested "Muggle government drone", in Twirlpike's experience.

The other human was likewise female, but much younger. Although Twirlpike was hardly an expert in these matters - one human looked much the same as any other, to him, apart from little cosmetic details like hair colour, which could easily be altered through application of simple charms and cheap potions, in any case - the child appeared to be taller than most witches of her age.

...Possibly. He only had the word of these otherworldly (not to mention American) authorities, as to whether she really was the age that they'd listed in her file. Pureblood wizards tracked their own genealogy and dates of birth with obsessive fanaticism, but who knew whether these Muggles were just as big sticklers for such details? You'd think humans could apply the same degree of care to upholding the dates and terms of the contractual obligations they entered into, but oh, no... Fat chance of that happening.

In any case, the girl was just as ugly as any other human: Black hair, spectacles, big eyes that looked red-rimmed from too much weeping or not enough sleep, or both... Her mouth was sufficiently wide to look halfway normal, but her teeth would almost certainly turn out to be hideous, ivory white, rounded human chompers, nary an honest fang in sight.

The Muggle government drone frowned, staring at Speight and Twirlpike with a dubious expression. "Ah... Hello? I was informed that an individual who's distantly related to one of our... clients had been located, and would attend this meeting...?"

Her eyes flicked from side to side, gaze sliding away and struggling to focus on them, as she evidently fought Speight's feeble spellwork, intended to let them walk among the Muggles without drawing too much notice. "Would that be... one of you?"

"Not quite," Twirlpike rasped. "We are representatives of... British government agencies."

Technically true, just not the _same_ government, or even one that the Muggle woman would have any chance of knowing about; after all, Gringotts had strong ties to the goblin rulers.

"We just need to perform a few simple tests to determine whether the girl is, in fact, related to one of our citizens," Speight cheerfully explained. "You really don't need to be present for this, so if you could leave us to it, we'll get started."

The Muggle government drone looked a little alarmed and affronted at this suggestion. The girl didn't look too happy about that idea, either.

"I really couldn't do that," the glaring woman said. "It would be completely irresponsible to leave a child, _unsupervised_, in the company of a pair of strangers, _who have yet to identify themselves_."

"Identification?" Twirlpike smirked, retrieving his special goblin-made paperwork from the folder he'd brought along. "Rest assured, once you've seen _my_ paperwork, you will-"

"Stupefy!"

A jet of red light leapt from Speight's wand, aimed at the woman. It struck her in the chest, and she promptly slumped forward onto the table, unconscious.

The girl's large eyes widened even further. She opened her mouth to scream-

...And was cut off by Speight's Silencing Charm.

"Of course, _now_ he remembers that he owns a wand," Twirlpike groused.

The Ministry wizard cast a few more memory-muddling spells on the unconscious woman - even Speight could reliably hit an immobile target at point blank range, it seemed - while Twirlpike hopped up on a chair and took a seat.

By now, the girl was looking decidedly frightened. Her eyes darted between the wizard, the Stupefied woman, Twirlpike, and the door.

"Relax, human," Twirlpike said, shuffling his folders around and lining them up on the table in front of him. "We're not here to harm you."

Twirlpike paused for a second. "Well... Not much, anyway."

This announcement did not seem to reassure her at all.


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

Speight planted himself on a chair, and beamed at the girl. "So, you're probably brimming with questions, eh? Countless things you want to ask us?"

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but no sound could be heard. She started gesturing at her throat, looking upset.

"Oh! Of course," the ministry wizard chuckled. He waved his wand at her, cancelling the Silencing Charm. "There you go! I'm sure that the first thing you'll want to ask, is-"

The girl piped up. "Are you capes?"

Speight and Twirlpike stared at her. The girl glared back.

"Erm..." Speight blinked, brows drawn together in a befuddled frown. "I thought Muggles didn't wear ca-"

"Are you going to kidnap me, as part of your evil plan to show the world how evil you are?"

"What?! No! Th-"

"Are you British? You sound British," the girl babbled with an intense look of both fear and curiosity on her face. "Do all British capes dress like that?"

Speight's shoulders slumped. "...These are not the questions I was expecting, at all."

"Did you kill Mrs. Thompson?"

The Ministry wizard tugged nervously at his beard. "Huh? Who's Mrs. Thompson?"

The girl clapped her small hands on the unconscious government drone's cheeks, and pulled her limp head up in a position that let Speight see the woman's face. "That's Mrs. Thompson."

"Oh! No, she's not dead, little girl. Don't you worry." Speight's smile went from awkward to smug. "She's just taking a little nap."

The unconscious woman drooled a bit, dripping on the table.

"See? She's _fine_. Never better!" Speight straightened in his chair. "Now, young lady, you sh-"

"I have a name, you know. And it's not 'young lady', or 'little girl'... It's _Taylor_," said the tiny human, carefully placing the unconscious Thompson's head back on the table. She folded her arms, and glowered with every fibre of her scrawny being. "Taylor Hebert."

The Ministry wizard seemed to actually quail a little, under the force of that young human's glare, before he bristled with indignation.

Twirlpike spent an enjoyable few seconds, gloating over Speight's obvious discomfort. Then, he focused on the girl. "Miss Hebert, we need to ask you a few questions."

The Hebert girl glanced at the insensate woman next to her, and shrugged unhappily. "'Kay. Not like I can stop you."

She seemed remarkably composed, for a Muggle-raised child faced with a curse-slinging wizard for the first time. Perhaps she'd recognized Speight for the clueless idiot that he was, and reasoned that she'd likely have a decent chance of outsmarting him?

"We believe that you may be distantly related to one of the old Pureblood wizarding families in Britain," Twirlpike explained.

"_Most ancient and noble_ Pureblood families," Speight interjected primly.

Twirlpike resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was a waste of time, in any case. He'd been in the room long enough for his keen goblin nose to get a good whiff of everyone's scent. (An eternally unpleasant yet unavoidable aspect of dealing with humans.) Lester Speight had the stink of wizard-kind about him, but the two female humans were both as Muggle as could be. No Pureblood family would care one whit about the Hebert girl, once they discovered that little detail.

Still... She'd proven herself capable of standing up to the Ministry blowhard, even while sitting down. If Twirlpike could get a few cheap laughs out of it, at Speight's expense, who was he to cut this farcical affair short? It wasn't like the Ministry would trust anything as unreliable as a goblin's opinion, when determining whether a child was magical or not.

The Hebert girl stared at Twirlpike, and pointed at his chest. "What is _that?_"

He glanced down at his vest, where she seemed to be pointing. "What?"

"That thing, in your breast pocket! What is it?"

Twirlpike shrugged. "Oh, this? It's just a packed lunch, in case these proceedings drag out."

"Lunch?" Hebert looked vaguely nauseated. "It's _wriggling!_"

"Of course it's wriggling." Twirlpike patted the squirming package in his vest pocket. "The best way to keep trebwassles fresh, is by leaving them alive until you eat them. Easy way to prepare a lean, yet filling meal."

Hebert probably didn't agree with his comments about easy and lean cuisine. In fact, she was closer to looking both queasy and green.

Oh, humans were so easy to wind up. She no doubt assumed he was going to devour the trebwassles whole, raw and _alive_, like some sort of _savage_. As if anyone would want to eat uncooked trebwassle, when it only took two minutes to boil it with the portable cooking gear he carried in his back pocket.

Speight cleared his throat. "As I was saying... According to the information we've collected thus far, you may be the last descendant of a Pureblood wizard family branch that emigrated to this country, centuries ago."

Hebert looked a little dismayed at this explanation. Probably upset by the oblique reference to the fact that her entire remaining family had been killed, not that long ago. Still, her sadness was not overwhelming enough to completely suppress her curiosity, it seemed. "...Wizards? _Seriously?_"

Speight bobbed his head in a pompous nod. "Indeed! It would be quite an honour for you, to be acknowledged as a scion of one of the old Pureblood families."

"Not to mention profitable." Twirlpike quirked a snide grin. "Many of the old Pureblood families are quite affluent."

"Right... Sure. Ancient wizards have loads of gold and magic jewels, I bet... and spells for making money on the stock market, and stuff." Hebert looked as sceptical as she sounded. "So, what happens if I'm not related to one of your British wizards?"

Speight shrugged. "If it turns out that you aren't a witch, we'll arrange for your memory of this meeting to be modified or erased, and you'll go back to the Muggle orphanage... or wherever you came from."

Hebert blanched a little. "Y-you'll erase my mind?!"

"Not all of it," Speight said, in a voice that was probably meant to be soothing. "Just the memories of meeting us, and seeing magic. Things that would just cause you trouble."

After staring fearfully at the Ministry wizard's wand for a moment, Hebert seemed to steel herself. "Right, so... Either I get to go live with some rich, old wizard uncle... or you mess with my mind, and toss me back in the foster care system?"

"Succinctly put," Twirlpike said. "But accurate enough."

"Okay," she said, balling her hands into fists on the table. "I'll... I'll try to answer your questions, then."

Speight smiled at her. "That's the spirit! Now, we need to-"

A sudden musical trilling sound erupted from the recumbent Thompson.

"What is that noise?" Speight stared at the unconscious woman, fingering his wand anxiously. "Do Muggles keep pet birds in their pockets?"

Hebert shot the wizard another questioning look. "Um... I think that's her cell phone."

The Ministry wizard looked even more confused. "Her woozit what now?"

"You know... a phone?" Hebert held up one hand next to her ear, miming something. "You call people on it, when you want to talk to them?"

"Aha! Of course!" Speight nodded with dawning comprehension. "You mean, a _phellytone!_ I've heard about those, before... I suppose they call them something different, here in the colonies."

Hebert stared at him in silence, jaw hanging slightly agape with shock.

The tinny chirruping noise had stopped, by now. A few seconds later, it started bleeping again.

"Um..." Hebert glanced at the unconscious Thompson. "If somebody doesn't answer that, people might wonder if anything happened to her, and then come looking to find out."

"Well, that would be dashed inconvenient." Speight stroked his beard contemplatively. He leaned forward, putting his face closer to the bleating woman. Then, he hesitantly began mimicking the shrill noises.

"That's not how you... Never mind, I'll do it." Hebert shook her head, and stuck one hand in Thompson's pocket. She pulled out a small device, which she fiddled around with for a second, poking it in a deliberate manner. Then, she held it to her ear, the same way she'd mimed, earlier. "Hello?"

Twirlpike watched with mild curiosity, as she proceeded to communicate with some unseen person through the device. She explained to them that Mrs. Thompson was unable to reply to their call at the moment, since she was currently busy with an important meeting, uh-huh, yes, that's right, and could Hebert take a message?

Meanwhile, Speight had blissfully ceased making tweetery whistling noises, and just stared.

"Okay, I'll tell her... 'Bye." Hebert lowered the device, and jabbed at it with a finger again. She slipped it back in Thompson's pocket.

"Remarkable!" Speight cheered, looking hopeful. "Did you use a bit of accidental magic to repair the broken phellytone? That would certainly make your British relatives interested in taking you in!"

"Broken?" Hebert frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, that phellytone was clearly not in good working order." Speight gestured at the unconscious woman. "It didn't have any strings or wires tied to it, and both the bells and the handle had fallen off!"

"...Handle?"

Speight nodded energetically, moving one fist in a circular motion. "Yes, the handle on the side that you twiddle, to make it work. You know?"

"Ah... Ri-i-ight." Hebert chewed her lower lip. "The, uh... handle. Well, you see... Only some phones have spinning handles on them."

"Really?"

"Yeah, special cranking phones." Hebert nodded. "They're used to, uh... make crank calls."

"Indeed?" Speight smiled. "Fascinating!"

Rather than burst out in loud, chortling laughter, Twirlpike limited himself to raising an approving eyebrow at the girl. He might not have much greater understanding of Muggle trinkets than the Ministry wizard did, but he knew a bald-faced lie when he heard one. Hebert's faux-innocent expression was almost impressive, for a human child of her age.

"Since Miss Hebert apparently didn't use any wandless spells or accidental magic to operate the device, we'll have to ascertain whether or not she's a witch by different means," Twirlpike said.

Speight fetched a self-inking quill and a piece of parchment from a pocket. "Did your parents ever let you borrow their wands?"

"Erm..." Hebert hunched her shoulders, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Mom and Dad aren't... I mean, they weren't magical. At least, I don't think so. I've never seen... I never saw them cast any spells, or stuff like that."

"Oh, dear." Speight grimaced, and jotted a note on his parchment, muttering to himself. "I was afraid of that... Must be a descendant of a Squib line, then. Her relatives won't be best pleased with that, and small wonder..."

Hebert swallowed nervously. "Um... What are the other ways of testing if I'm magical?"

"Well, ah..." Speight scratched his beard with the end of his quill. "Have you ever exhibited any bouts of accidental magic?"

When Hebert only responded with a perplexed expression and more lip-gnawing, Twirlpike spoke up. "Have you ever had any strange things happen around you that you couldn't explain? Things appearing or disappearing? Things changing size, or shape, or colour?"

Hebert sat in silence, mulling this over. After a minute, she shook her head. "...No?"

"That's a shame," Speight sighed. "I suppose we could try to induce a spot of accidental magic... Any preferences?"

Twirlpike's eyes narrowed.

Come to think of it, his fellow goblins had always mocked him for being overly soft and tolerant towards wizards. On reflection, his colleagues at Gringotts were probably right: A battle-axe was too good for the likes of Lester Speight.

Hebert leaned sideways, whispering to Twirlpike out of the corner of her mouth. "What's he talking about?"

"He wants to provoke your inner magic into defending you." Twirlpike laced his fingers. "Chucking you out of a window, or dropping a heavy object on top of you, or setting you on fire..."

Hebert squeaked, wide-eyed. "A-actually, I, uh... I just thought of something! Accidental magic, I mean! Which I did, on my own!"

Twirlpike blinked languidly, and relaxed in his chair. This ought to be good.

She shuffled awkwardly in her seat, hunching and reaching under the table. When she straightened upright again, she held up an odd-looking Muggle shoe. "So, uh... One time, I was walking home from school, but it was getting dark out, and I couldn't see where I was going... But then, my shoes began to glow!"

Hebert rapped the shoe rhythmically against the table. Each time the sole slapped down on the tabletop, some small inlaid glassy beads lit up with a red light.

Speight's beard crinkled in a pleased grin. "Capital! Well done!" His smile faltered a little. "Erm... It's not very bright, though, is it?"

Hebert's eyes darted up and down, glancing between the shoe and the wizard. "Yyyeah? Well... It's not very dark in here right now, is it?"

"Very true, very true..." Speight scribbled another note. Then, he suddenly sat up straight, snapping his fingers. "Of course! Inheri-Test parchment! Why didn't I think of that in the first place?"

In the privacy of his own mind, Twirlpike cursed and swore vehemently. Hebert had proved to be a steady source of entertainment, conning Speight through deftly improvised bluff and trickery, getting him to believe that she was a witch. Now, the Ministry idiot had finally stumbled on a good idea of his own. Once he had conclusive proof that Hebert was just another Muggle orphan, the show would be well and truly over.

All good things must come to an end, it seemed.


End file.
